


International Small Arms Traffic Blues

by DiscoSheets



Category: Archer - Fandom
Genre: Cyborgs, Established Relationship, Lots of kissing, M/M, Post season finale, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-04
Updated: 2014-11-29
Packaged: 2018-02-07 10:37:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1895928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiscoSheets/pseuds/DiscoSheets
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on the second half of Archer:Vice</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cabal

"Why do we always have to share a room?"

"The sinister gay cabal Cyril, you have fallen victim to the sinister gay cabal." Ray unzipped his jacket part way down and patted the spot besides him on the mattress.

"Okay you know..." Cyril frowned, remembering the way Ray pulled on his sleeve as they were shown to their rooms. _He wants me here, he **wants** me._

"I don't know why we always get stuck together, but I kinda don't mind it."

_He definitely didn't mind it last week when I was ramming into his ass!_

"Actually I don't either, now that it–"

"QUEEEEEER!" Ray snickered and started to play with his zipper again glancing up and smiling up at Cyril while the accountant removed his pants and draped them carefully over the empty bed. He slid down next to Ray, who was in the process of unbuttoning his shirt.

"Can we just spoon?" Cyril asked. "I'm kinda tired an–"

"Your breath smells like shit, well vomit anyway."

"And whose fault is that?"

"What–I just fly the danged thing I can't control the weather!" With that he grabbed Cyril, snaking his hand up his shirt, his expression changed.

"You know this isn't exactly what I meant when I said 'bring protection'."

Cyril twitched and turned a bright pink as Ray to continued to run his hands across (and under) the Kevlar.


	2. Breath

Cyril stepped out of the shower. He reached for the towel rack, but; No towels? How could this place, this actual palace have shower caps but no towels? The thought that he could probably run a country more effectively, or at least keep the guest bedrooms of the palace in order floated past, somewhere in the dark and stormy seas of Cyril Figgis' mind.

He pulled off the shower cap and tossed it into the trash. Cyril pushed the door open slightly. He could see Ray reclining on the bed wearing just a kimono loosely around his shoulders and a smile. From here Cyril could just make out the scar on Ray's left hip. There were other scars. Scars only a few years old like the ones on the back of his legs. The ones were faded and difficult to find, the ones across his chest were the oldest made many years before he even met Ray. They never talk about Ray's scars. He opened the door the rest of the way and went to join Ray on the bed. The mattress dipped as Ray pulled him into a kiss.

"I thought you said my breath was bad?"

"Well you _do_  have cock breath..."


	3. Sake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ray is not the mother of Cyril's child, but neither was Lana.

A door swings open.   
Small, shuffled footsteps as they enter.  
Thud thud thud thump the last shoe drops.  
Drinks are poured and feet are put up.   
Ray Gillette lets the last drops of sake sink into his tongue before he speaks.  
"Home at last," he says. Ray did not want to think about the last eight and half months. All he wanted to do now was have a few drinks, take a nice hot shower, and go to bed, preferably Cyril would join him.  
Cyril Figgis hasn't even touched his drink yet, instead he's looking around, "you have a really nice place, Ray."  
"Then stay." Ray places his empty glass on the edge of the coffee table.   
Cyril sets his drink down on a coaster made from a polished geode.   
"I can't, Lana and the baby need me."  
"But they don't it's not your baby and Lana isn't your woman! And besides, I-I'm really sick of it! You always do this!"  
"Is this about what happened in San Marcos?"  
"Ya think? Dammit Cyril!" His voice drops. "Don't go, please."  
He's gripping Cyril's sleeve. "I'm a man, Cyril. I can't." Heavy breaths.   
Ray is burying his face in Cyril's shirt. Cyril strokes Ray's hair,  
"What do you think this is all about me wanting kids or something? I don't care about that!" Cyril kisses him.  
In the past year Ray lost and regained his mobility. He had lost his job, his home, and for a time his mind. And yet with all these changes, the loss, the pain, the bottles, he was glad he wasn't going to lose Cyril too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last story set during Vice im going to write for quite some time (probably). Bur expect other Ray/Cyril works from me in the future.


End file.
